Kick Back by Val McDermid Page B

I’m afraid.”
    I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That was my first mistake. My ribs had decided to go off duty for the night and I ended up doubled over in a gasping cough. Of course, that was precisely the moment Richard chose to arrive. The first I knew of it was the yell. “Oi, you, leave her alone! Jesus, don’t you think she’s been through enough tonight?” Then he was crouched in front of me, gazing up into my eyes, genuine fear and concern in his face. “Brannigan,” he murmured. “You’re not fit to be let out on your own, you know that?”
    If I hadn’t feared it would kill me, I’d have laughed. This, from the man who gets to the corner shop and forgets what he went out for? All of a sudden, I felt very emotional. Must have been the combination of the shock and the drugs. I felt a hot tear trickle down my nose. “Thanks for coming,” I said in a shaky voice.
    Richard patted my shoulder softly, then straightened up. “Can’t
you see she’s in a state?” he demanded. I twisted my head round to look at the constable, a young lad who was scarlet with embarrassment. The rest of the waiting room were avidly following the drama, momentarily forgetting their own pain.
    â€œI’m sorry, sir,” the cop mumbled. “But I need to get some details of the accident from Miss Brannigan. So we can take appropriate action.”
    Richard appeared to relax slightly. Uh-oh, I thought. “And you can’t wait till morning? You have to harass an innocent woman? What’s your problem, pal? Got no real criminals out there in the naked city tonight?”
    The constable looked hunted. His eyes flickered round the room, desperately seeking a Tardis. I took pity. “Richard, leave it. Just take me home, please. If the constable needs some details, he can follow us there.”
    Richard shrugged. “OK, Brannigan. Let’s roll.”
    We were halfway to the door when the cop caught up with us. “Em, excuse me, I don’t actually have your address.”
    Richard said “Four,” I said “Two” then we chorused “Coverley Close.” The copper looked completely bemused.
    â€œEm, can I ask you to take me with you, sir? I’m afraid I haven’t any transport here.” The poor lad looked mortified. He looked even more mortified folded into the back seat of Richard’s Beetle, helmet on his knees.
    By the time I had dragged my weary body up the path, I was seriously considering a jacuzzi as well as a mobile phone. I certainly wasn’t in the mood for a police interview. But I wanted to get it over with.
    We got name, address, date of birth and occupation (security consultant) out of the way while Richard brewed up. The constable looked utterly bewildered when Richard dumped the tray on my coffee table, announced that I was out of milk and wandered off into the conservatory. As Richard came back clutching half a bottle of milk, I put the young copper out of his misery.
    â€œThe conservatory runs across the back of both houses,” I explained. “That way, we don’t get under each other’s feet.”
    â€œShe means she gets out of washing my dishes and my socks,”
Richard said, settling down on the couch beside me. I winced as he leaned into me, and he pulled away quickly. “Sorry, Brannigan,” he added, stroking my good arm.
    I outlined what had happened on Barton Bridge. I have to admit it was satisfying to see both Richard and the copper turn pale as I gave them the details. “And then the fire brigade arrived and cut me free. Just about the time I should have been eating my first crispy prawn wonton,” I added, for Richard’s benefit.
    The constable cleared his throat. “Did you see the driver of the van at all, miss?”
    â€œNo. I wasn’t paying attention till it was too late. Far as I was concerned, it was just a van overtaking